VIM Issue 1 2011 low resolution - All Saints College

FROM THE CHAPLAIN
The Road to Easter
Here is Number 6 in the series of Characters
on the Road to Easter - Simon of Cyrene.
There is one tantalising verse which describes
Simon’s life changing encounter:
Mark 15:21 A certain man from Cyrene,
Simon , the father of Alexander and Rufus,
was passing by on his way in from the country
and they forced him to carry the cross.
This episode occurs between the flogging and
mocking of Jesus and the arrival at the place
called Golgotha where Jesus was crucified.
Later in life Simon remembers:
I just heard you singing: ‘Were you there
when they crucified my Lord…?’ Well, yes,
I was.
In our tradition there is a verse from the book
of Ecclesiastes, talking of the aged which has
the words - ‘when the almond tree blossoms’.
(Eccl 12:5)
My hair is white and sparse now, like the
blossoms of the almond tree. This time in
my life is seared in my memory. It was at the
time when my orchard of almond trees in the
country was in blossom – the spring in the
land I love, the hills of Judea.
The family property was not far from
Jerusalem; we had bought it with money from
our trading. My wife and I had only been here
a few years.
My birth place is northern Africa; you would
know it as Libya; I knew it as Cyrene. We
had tracts of fertile stone-free ground which
would produce the choicest crops of wheat for
the mills of Rome. Rome was where all the
money was and it was just across the sea to
the capital. I had it all lined up - the planters,
the reapers and the shippers. That is what gave
me the capital to buy here in the country of my
ancestors.
I wanted to be near Jerusalem for the Spring
Passover. Others could only go once in their
lifetimes. I went many times.
We couldn’t grow wheat here because of the
stony ground but we could plant olives and
almonds. The crops were good. God was good
in giving us the harvest – the work of our
hands, by the sweat of our brow.
I was just coming home from the country
early, as I had to get ready for the Passover
- we had family with us from Cyrene. It was
only half way through the day. As I approached
the city walls I came across a tangle of people:
Roman soldiers, shouters, Temple officials,
commoners, people from the north, Galileans,
shouting and groaning, weeping, padding
at a distance. It was just outside those old
walls, on the road to the hill that looks like a
skull, Golgotha. I was walking past where the
Jericho road branches off.
Though Jewish, I have some black looks in
me. As I was brushing past this knot of people
the gaze of a dreaded Roman soldier met mine.
He seemed to be having a difficult time and
under occupation law we are required to carry
their packs. Even though I was going past he
grabbed my arm and I thought that I was done
for, because you know the cruelty of these
4 | ALL SAINTS’ COLLEGE VIM Issue 1 2011
men. They are so far from home and without the
comforts of marriage. On the road there was a man
I recognised, the Nazarene, but he was bloodied
and so messed. He was creeping with his cross -
just the great log of a bar – the upright was waiting
for him down the road and up the hill of Golgotha.
He was weak. Before I knew it my shoulder bag
with its supply of bitter herbs for the Passover was
left on the roadside and I was flung towards Jesus
with the barked order to carry his log – his burden
of the cross.
Being a Jew I thought that he was getting his
just reward - because he claimed to be equal
with God, a position of blasphemy in our Jewish
understanding. I bent to haul up his log, and from
that moment I knew something had happened. I
could not help brushing against him as I pulled up
his log, and his eyes met mine. He was at peace,
in all the pain. His blood spilled on me and I
remembered the readings in the books of Moses
where our ancestors put the blood of the Lamb
on their doorways and our people in Egypt were
spared. We had already bought our lamb, and
the preparations for the Passover were even then
underway, at the hands of my beloved, the wife of
my youth. I seemed to hear in my brain the words
‘Behold the Lamb of God….’
I looked into his gaze again and saw that he was
not a violent man. I had hired and fired many,
and I consider myself a pretty good judge of
character. This man was different. From his eyes
love flowed to me, as if it was life and a flame. I
felt that I counted. I felt that I was in the presence
of God himself. I heard his voice speaking to me,
even in his great pain. I saw the thorns, with one
just piercing his right eyebrow, the blood scars
on his back and his heaving ribs. He spoke in a
calm voice. I should be comforting him and yet
he comforted me. It was as if I was at rest in his
presence. I could handle the weight – I was strong
then. My hands could grasp the upper end of the
log. I heard later that he had said those words about
coming to him all who were laden and he would
give them rest. Despite all the clamour outside
I was at rest inside. Yes, those words continue –
‘Come unto me…Take my yoke upon you and I
will give you rest.’ During the days after, when I
heard Peter preach it came to me that I was the
first to take his yoke. What a privilege. I pondered
this over the years. I was African and I represented
my people by taking His yoke. ‘Take my yoke and
learn for me for I am gentle and humble in heart
and you will find rest for your souls.’ (Matt 11:28)
I had read in Plato and Cicero sayings that are wise
and very beautiful but I never read in either of
them ‘Come unto me all you that labour and are
heavy laden’.
On that road I got a taste of the suffering that Jesus
had before him. There was the loneliness mixed
with the hatred of the temple top brass. I thought
he had disciples but could not see any in the knot of
people, only his women screaming and weeping.
It was as if those around were making him a
scapegoat, killing him for their own sins.
Other thoughts came to me. From then I had the
taste of how Moses felt after he had met God
face to face; I think I know how Jacob felt as he
wrestled all night with God. God was now more
than a thing, God was a personal being. Religion
The Reverend
Paul Woodhart
was more than a toy or a hobby, it was a life
and death matter.
We got to the place of the skull. I had seen it
before as I had walked by but now, looking
down, I saw every stone and tuft of grass.
We inched up the track, whipped on by the
brutal soldiers, who wanted to get the thing
over so they could go for a pint. I still have
the welts from the whip. I put the log down,
and they lay Jesus across it. I know, I know
the pain – the soldiers took one great thud
to drive the rods through his forearms, and I
retched when I saw and heard the crunch of
the rod as it hit through his ankles.
I stayed and heard his words ‘Father forgive
them for they know not what they do’. I
heard the abuse and pain of one of the others
who was hung up. And I heard the haunting
words to the other – ‘Today you shall be
with me in paradise.’
In these almond blossom years I wait to hear
those words of love and welcome.
I could not participate in the Passover that
year as I was considered unclean.
It was Mary, Jesus’ mother, who sought me
out afterwards and invited me to friendship
with the others. I remember her contorted
face and the words, ‘Thank you’.
I told my story many times to the others who
had run away. But then we saw him and I
knelt and kissed him. I was blessed by him
and told, with the others, to go and make his
message known.
My two boys, Rufus and Alexander, were
only young then, but they are now Spiritfilled
ministers in the church in Jerusalem.
I have seen the Lord and called him by name
- My Lord and My God.
We need to be ready for when the time
comes for us to take up our cross. We cannot
pick the time, otherwise we would put it off,
saying: ‘Lord, I’ll take it up tomorrow’.
Once we begin picking the time for the cross
then we’ll start picking the size and then the
weight and finally the convenience.
In my years I have seen others bearing
their cross - weighed by persecution,
suffering and shame, as they were
commanded to do by our Lord.
I see now that if there is No Cross on this
side of heaven there will be No Crown in
heaven.
Father Paul Woodhart.